Rhythm
by ginnyharry.crucio
Summary: "It was the first time I knew that you were the woman I wanted to dance all my dances with." Mondler two-shot.


_"And in that moment_ , _I swear_ _we were infinite_."

 **– Stephen Chbosky, _The Perks of Being a Wallflower_**

* * *

Chandler stepped into the house, strolled through the narrow hallway to the living room, tossed the car keys on the table beside and slouched on the easy chair by the fireplace. He watched Monica's slow figure follow. She put away the hat and unbuckled the flower brooch and slipped beside him. All these years and he wondered how their older and chubbier selves still fit into the chair together like a jigsaw puzzle.

"Well," he sighed, "that was a hell of a wedding, wasn't it."

"Yeah, it was," she mumbled.

"You okay?"

She shrugged, her eyes lined with tears again, "I am. I really am."

It had been an emotionally exhausting day. She had been high-strung, and tired to the brim – he looked no further than the wrinkly eye bags under her vibrant blue eyes. The flower arrangements, making sure the food was perfectly plated, that the bridesmaids and groomsmen didn't break order – there had been so much to do. Monica hadn't listened to anyone, not to him, or Erica, or Emma, or Rachel, or even Jack and Daniel.

"Erica, you be a doll and go sit there," Monica had ordered, which her daughter begrudgingly obeyed, scooping up the folds of her gown and thumping over the chair at a corner, "Is it airy enough? Don't want your make-up to melt into mush."

"Oh, mom –"

"No, no, don't speak, you'd sweat – is _that_ a stray thread?"

Erica had surrendered and looked up in defeat at her laughing father as a final resort. He had walked up and placed a comforting hand on Erica's shoulder. "Trust me, I've seen worse."

"Sing Mommy the song," she whispered into his ear.

Chandler playfully raised an eyebrow, catching another sight of the panicky, bordering-on-hysterical Monica tucking brooches on the bridesmaids. "You'd think that'll work."

"Oh c'mon, Dad, the waltz always works!"

He kissed his daughter on the forehead. "Today's your day to waltz, honey."

It was almost half an hour that Chandler and Monica sat in silence, hand in hand, staring into the low fire and reliving it. When the wedding march had begun, and he had walked Erica down the aisle; funny thing was how his mind shot a parallel into the past when one-year old Erica had clasped onto his index finger and padded her first steps like an adorable penguin. And now she had untangled her arm from his and stepped ahead to be with her man. He couldn't have been prouder. Tears stung his eyes, and he wasn't even in the crier in the family.

Monica dug her face into the crease of his neck. "How happy are we?"

"So happy I could die," he replied.

"Not so early, Bing," she chuckled, "We still have the third one to pass. And this one's the real head scratcher."

He laughed at that. Daniel, _yes_. Even though he looked like Monica, what with big blue eyes and jet black hair, he was a Chandler from tip to toe, so eerily familiar it made them laugh. A sarcastic cynic currently in college and clueless about life in general, rueing about the lack of female attention he received yet rolling his eyes whenever the subject of marriage popped up, the new funny-man of the family. "Take it from me, son, you just need a lucky day," Chandler had advised him once; before he received a chastising backslap from the passing Monica.

"Do you remember London?" she asked suddenly.

"Ohhhhh yes. You were hot and I was cute."

"It has been a long time, hasn't it?" and with it, she dabbed at her eyes again, wiped off the tears brimming on the edge. He looked at her, concerned; she was sleep-deprived and the day, as undeniably happy as it was, must've had left a gaping hole in her heart.

"You should go to sleep," he advised softly.

She shrugged, "I'm okay. I'm just a little... sad. I know I shouldn't be, but still, you know..."

"Maybe I know what can cheer you up," he said, as he leapt to his feet, pulling her up with him. He held her hand in one and grabbed her waist with the other. It was the waltz.

"Not again," she grinned, swaying with him, "Next time I won't let you lead!"

"We'll see," he winked, even as he twirled her. Through time, it had become less of a waltz and more of jumpy jazzy, at times dirty, dancing. He started in a slow tune. " _Someday, when I'm awfully low_..."

"You're going to hurt your hip again!"

"Oh c'mon, Mon, sing along."

She beamed, coming up with a jumble-jamble of lyrics, " _When the world was – was thinking of you... just the way you look, tonight_." She hummed the rest, giggled at her error and rested her head on his chest. She wore an old-lady cardigan these days, didn't have a single black strand of hair on her head anymore ("Grey is the new sexy," Chandler had told her), her porcelain skin was etched with lines of wisdom, or so he'd say often. Yet she was beautiful, and those eyes had never stopped shining.

"Hey," he began suggestively, "there's no one around, why don't we notch it up a little?"

"What d'you wanna do?"

He gave into a sheepish pout, "Maybe in that red thing you used to wear?"

Monica mock-glared at him, smiling, "That red thing doesn't fit me anymore. God, Chandler, you are sixty already!"

"We aren't putting a show on, are we?" he joked, "What about some good old-fashioned action in the black one?"

"Hmm... I can try the black one."

"You're on." Chandler set off towards the bedroom with a child-like urgency, when he noticed Monica hadn't moved from her position, instead, she gazed at him with starry-eyed appreciation. He prodded curiously, "What happened?"

"We haven't changed at all."

* * *

"Jack, you're holding the camcorder upside-down."

Chandler leapt over the huge pile of gifts to reach out to his nine-year old son who was monkeying around Erica with the thing. Erica was wearing her yellow raincoat for some reason, and with her toy shovel began to carefully dig into the gifts, probably pretending them to be rocks. Then she looked right into the camera, and piped, "The treasure is near!"

He laughed as he watched the children play-acting to be weighed down to the ground with every "rock" they displaced. "Indiana Jones?"

"It's a game show, duuuh!"

"Oh," he played along, "What show?"

They replied in unison. "The baby shower treasure hunt!"

"What is going on here?" Monica arrived at the scene, with a broomstick and a rag, already on the way to take down the decorations and paper plates strewn around and the bits and pieces of the aftermath of the party. She leaned against the door, her pregnant belly swollen to its full glory, her arms akimbo.

"They're hunting the treasure," said Chandler, "for the baby – who has been taken captive by the overlord of the galaxy – and if they don't do it soon – the universe will implode!" Jack and Erica nodded along, like little militants following the commander.

Monica eventually relented, "But guys, if you keep tossing around the gifts like that some of them might break."

"Maybe we can open them?" Jack happened to be asking for permission. Erica jumped in excitement, "Yes, yes pleeeease!" and went ahead and ripped apart the packaging of a bright blue box. It turned out to be a moulding of plastic – some kind of a plastic stand – or so the children thought as they threw it confused looks.

"What is _that_?" questioned Erica.

"It's a bassinet," Monica smiled at her, "It's for keeping your little brother in so he doesn't fall off."

"Why'd he fall off?" Jack guffawed at the thought, "We are not The Incredibles."

"Hey, we can be!" Erica shot at him, "Mommy is totally like Elastigirl! Dad's Mr. Incredible, Emma's Dash and little baby bro will be Jack-Jack Parr!"

"And what about me?"

"You are... The Underminer," she giggled, and set off for a run around the messy living room even as her brother chased after. In another minute they were already bored out of it, as Erica picked up another gift; this time it felt like a picture frame. She scrunched the wrapping apart, stared at it for a while, then laughed out loud.

"What – what is it?" asked Monica. Erica handed it to her. "We don't swim in your toilet, so don't pee in our pool," she read aloud.

"And of course this is the parcel from Cool Uncle Joey," Chandler shook his head, a grin creeping up on his face as he neared Monica and checked the label. "To the ... Hoyts?"

"It's a long story," she told him, "Long and a good one."

"It's a cassette," Jack announced all of a sudden, having uncovered another one, "Somebody gave us a cassette! Maybe it's a mixtape."

"Can you believe it, someone gave us a mixtape," sneered Monica, turning around, expecting a sarcastic comment. But Chandler's knowing smile told otherwise. He whispered into her ear, "I made it from the scratch this time."

She gasped in wonderment. "Aw, Chandler, you didn't need to..." but he silenced her with a small kiss, wrapping his arms around her waist. He deadpanned, "Wow, can't even make hands meet." Monica lightly poked him in the chest, laughing.

In the meantime, Jack and Erica had already put the tape on, and were dancing about on a slow romantic number they had probably never heard of in their lives before, and thereby play-acted to be posh Americans of the 1950s – or so it looked – holding up the "gowns" and "sticks" and fanning with their hands. Chandler noticed the camcorder resting on the top of the drawer, pointing at the room, possibly recording every moment.

He swayed her delicately with the music. "Incoming rare footage of Mommy and Daddy dancing together," he snickered, "It is apparently a dangerous affair and the last time it was tried Daddy had accidentally ripped off Grandmom's dress."

"Which, by the way, Grandmom's still bitter about," added Monica.

"But Daddy still kinda finds it funny."

"And Mommy will punch Daddy now."

"That's because Mommy has _no_ idea how much Daddy loves her," his voice lowered to that heavily sincere undertone, as he gave her a peck on the neck.

"Daddy's forgiven," she returned it on his lips. It worked like a chemical reaction, an explosive reaction that didn't go by the rules. He had sucked her into the kiss; for a split-second they were oblivious of the children, before they broke apart with the epiphany. Redness had etched along her glowing cheeks. She bit her lip and smiled.

"Daddy always knows his way with the ladies, doesn't he."

* * *

"Look, Monica, there's no way I'm dancing at the wedding."

"Noooo, come on!" She enthusiastically dragged him in the middle of the living room, "Bridesmaid and best man. It's a tradition."

Chandler raised a bewildered eyebrow. " _What_?"

"They're British," came her slightly lame explanation.

"Look," he began, his hands slightly raised, "Why don't you train Ross – it's his wedding and he's anyway going to make a fool of himself – or Joey, ask Joey! He learnt a bit with Treeger, he knows a bit of all this – juggling."

"Juggling?" she laughed out loud, "You think I'm going to bounce you up in the air like a giant sock ball?"

"I don't know... you're freakishly strong."

Monica rolled her eyes, half-grinning, as she pranced along the couch and tapped the stereo on again. A classical violin piece filled up the apartment, while Chandler rubbed his chin and scratched the back of his head. "How the heck are you supposed to dance to this?"

Monica pounced right in front of him and grabbed his shoulder so suddenly he jumped, "The way the British do."

"So, Mon, when you thought you'd be travelling to London, did you expect travelling through a portal into a Jane Austen novel?"

"Oh, shut up," she said, as she held up his awkwardly-posed unwilling hand, "Now follow my steps."

He tried to, and stumbled a couple of times, well aware by now that the reason Monica stuck with him through this ordeal (or stuck him through this ordeal, whichever order of words one chose) is the fact that she wasn't too good at it herself. "Hey, isn't this the number from Titanic?" He asked her.

"Yeah," she stole glances at him, "So?"

"Nothing, nothing," he made a poker-face, as he held back a snigger, "I'm already maxed out by now. Say, where to, ma'am?"

She came around, grinning at that, while she motioned the twirl, "To the stars."

He wasn't sure what got into him once they enacted Jack and Rose; he tried to playfully lift her off the ground and make it look _dancey_ at the same time – as a sorry consequence and a part of the _Chandler_ luck, he tripped over a spare shoe and both of them crashed into a heap on the floor.

"Oww!" was Chandler's knee-jerk reaction as Monica's elbow hit his ribs with the force of gravity. He wanted to scream out loud, but something about the moment shut him up.

Maybe it was the way she had fallen right on top of him. Maybe it was the way she looked into his eyes, with a kind of intensity that made his heart flutter inexplicably. Maybe it was the fact they didn't really move for a while, whatever the reason might be – pain, shock, inertia, intention. Maybe it was the way their noses were – almost touching – as if they were about to kiss.

He would be lying if he said he didn't feel the electricity. And he would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it – about the idea of them – before. In fact it was quite an old one by now; he had tested the waters only to be shot down everytime. It didn't matter though; as if it wasn't iterated a million times before, she was beautiful and unattainable, the tail end of a sweet dream, and he was a goofy, clumsy, commitment-phobic snarker with a knack for laughing at everything. On top of it, there was nothing that was worth risking their friendship for.

The moment passed and she fell into a fit of laughter, toppling off him and crouched on the floor. "Nice move, hero."

He nodded with a slow swagger, in a way only he knew how to. "Like you didn't know this ship was doomed to sink."

* * *

"Feels like a bad acid trip, this thing."

"Well, you paid for it, and here we are."

They stared afar into the coloured mist and the dancing neon lights as the next band took the stage and readied their instruments. Monica had clasped onto his hand tightly, probably out of the slight fear the jumping crowd would drift them apart and ruin the evening.

"I don't even know why the people are so excited!" she screamed into the air, although there was quite some time before everything began to muffle up because of the noise, as it rang out more audibly than expected, and turned a few judging heads and sent Chandler reaching out for invisible earmuffs.

"Honey, I think that's because they all bought the ticket," he replied, a little jokey, a little sarcastic, and a lot quieter.

She rolled her eyes. "I just meant, it's the starting artists. It's not even the band we came to see."

He squinted in an attempt to get a better view, "Hey, isn't this The Swing Kings?"

"The Swing Kings?"

"Yeah, didn't you catch that GAP commercial?" he asked excitedly, "They're good music. Fresh, upbeat."

Meanwhile, the band began its first song. The crowd roared and danced. Through the corner of his eye, he caught Monica grinning at the stage, her eyes shining under the flickering neon lights. Without warning, he grabbed her waist and lifted her hand.

"We are supposed to dance," he winked.

"Dance?" she did a double take, certain that it was a joke, "In this crowd?"

"Oh c'mon, we're not gonna waltz all over the place. Just go with the music."

"Did you get that from the GAP commercial?"

"Just throw your arms and legs about and you never know, it might just look like a dance."

She laughed. "Is there an award for the craziest couple on the block?"

"You know they might just give us one since we're both so bad at it."

"Bad at crazy?" She locked her arms around his neck and pulled him close. She swayed, and he swayed along. It was not waltz-y, but a light-footed jazzy sway. Somehow they had managed to find their moment of peace amidst the noise and the lights and the cheers and the music.

"No, good at crazy, bad at dancing."

He looked deep into her big blue eyes, dug his fingers into her hair and kissed her. She shut her eyes and kissed him back. They continued to sway. She was sweet – _so_ sweet; her lipstick tasted like cherries, her skin was smooth, her warm breath like mint. Added with the music and the lights, it felt like the giddy teenage dream in the rain. Like new love.

Every time. Every fucking time.

A random push from the crowd interrupted into the trance. They broke apart; she was beaming. She shook her head and smiled into his shirt. "Awful, awful at dancing."

"You sound like me," he quipped, "Good music though, don't you think?"

"Hmm. Not bad."

"You sound like me again."

She mock-scolded him with a tap on his head, for the lack of a verbal response. He gave into a wide lopsided grin. The music grew louder. The crowd cheered on. The lights flickered and the coloured mist fluffed up. Awful or not, he knew for sure this was the woman he wanted to dance all his dances with.

* * *

 **Hello, children. This is one pointless collection I just felt like writing. Part two will be Monica's perspective. Somehow unconsciously in the fic it seemed like Chandler chose all the lighter moments defining their relationship, while Monica chose (like you'll see in the next chapter) the more intense ones. Anyway, please review. Hope I haven't bored too much and now I shall be back in my burrow.**


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